"Well, sir, we have come from St. Petersburg by way of Berlin. We had
five compartments through to Paris for our party when we started, all
paid for, and this man has the tickets. He says we must get out here and
buy new tickets or we must all go in two staterooms, which is
impossible--" and she swept her hand over the balance of the troupe.
The chocolate gentleman again lifted his shoulders. He had been abused
in that way by passengers since the day of his birth.
The richly dressed woman, another Leading Lady doubtless, now joined in
the conversation--she probably was the trained rabbit-woman or the girl
with the pigeons--pigeons most likely, for these stars are always
selected by the management for their beauty, and she certainly was
beautiful.
"And Monsieur"--this in French--again I spare the reader--"I have given
him"--pointing to the chocolate gentleman--"pour boire all the time. One
hundred francs yesterday and two gold pieces this morning. My maid is
quite right--it is abominable, such treatment----"
The personalities now seemed to weary the attendant. His elbows widened,
his shoulders nearly touched his ears, and his fingers opened; then he
went into his closet and shut the door. So far as he was concerned the
debate was closed.
The memory of my own five francs now loomed up, and with them the
recollection of the trick by which they had been stolen from me.
"Madam," I said, gravely, "I will bring the manager. He is here and
will see that justice is done you."
It was marvellous to watch what followed. The manager listened patiently
to the Pigeon Charmer's explanation of the outrage, started suddenly
when she mentioned some details which I did not hear, bowed as low to
her reply as if she had been a Duchess--his hat to the floor--slid back
the closet-door, beckoned me to step in, closed it again upon the three
of us, and in less than five minutes he had the third chocolate
gentleman out of his chocolate uniform and stripped to his underwear,
with every pocket turned inside out, bringing to light the
one-hundred-franc note, the gold pieces, and all five of the circus
parties' tickets.
Then he flung the astonished and humiliated man his trousers, waited
until he had pulled them on, grabbed him by his shirt-collar and marched
him out of the car across the platform through the wicket gate, every
passenger on the train looking on in wonder. Five minutes later the
whole party--the stately Pigeon Charmer, her English maid, the
spectacled German (performing sword-swallower or lightning calculator
probably), and the two boys (tumblers unquestionably), with all their
belongings--were transferred to my car, the Pigeon Charmer graciously
accepting my escort, the passengers, including the bald-headed man--my
room-mate--standing on one side to let us pass: all except the big dog,
who had shifted his quarters, and was now stretched out at the sofa end
of the car.
Then another extraordinary thing happened--or rather a series of
extraordinary things.
When I had deposited the Pigeon Charmer in her own compartment (Number
Five, next door), and had entered my own, I found my bald-headed
room-mate again inside. This time he was seated by the foot-square,
dust-covered table assorting cigarettes. He had transferred my small
luggage--bag, coat, etc.--to the _lower_ berth, and had arranged his own
belongings in the upper one.
He sprang to his feet the instant he saw me.
The bow of the Sleeping-Car Manager to the Pigeon Charmer was but a bend
in a telegraph-pole to the sweep the bald-headed man now made me. I
thought his scalp would touch the car-floor.
"No, your Highness," he cried, "I insist"--this to my protest that I had
come last--that he had prior right--besides, he was an older man, etc.,
etc.--"I could not sleep if I thought you were not most
comfortable--nothing can move me. Pardon me--will not your Highness
accept one of my poor cigarettes? They, of course, are not like the ones
you use, but I always do my best. I have now a new cigarette-girl, and
she rolled them for me herself, and brought them to me just as I was
leaving St. Petersburg. Permit me"--and he handed me a little leather
box filled with Russian cigarettes.
Now, figuratively speaking, when you have been buncoed out of five
francs by a menial in a ticket-office, jumped upon and trampled under
foot by a gate-keeper who has kept you cooling your heels outside his
wicket while your inferiors have passed in ahead of you--to have even a
bald-headed man kotow to you, give you the choice berth in the
compartment, move your traps himself, and then apologize for offering
you the best cigarette you ever smoked in your life--well! that is to
have myrrh, and frankincense, and oil of balsam, and balm of Gilead
poured on your tenderest wound.